Needed: Her Mr Right. Barbara Hannay

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СКАЧАТЬ seated at a small table on the far side, facing the entrance. A red lantern cast a rosy glow over her, illuminating the shock of recognition in her eyes.

      She remembered. Remembered that fleeting moment last week when they’d locked gazes at the airport.

      A tiny rocket of hope launched inside him, but it was quickly doused, as her surprised disbelief changed to clear disappointment, then displeasure.

      Not the best of beginnings.

      Nevertheless, he smiled as he made his way to her, kept smiling as he held out his hand.

      “Hello, Simone.”

      She ignored his attempt to be friendly, simply looked up at him with wary eyes and a tight, no-nonsense mouth. He took the seat opposite her.

      Forgot to breathe.

      Close up, she was even lovelier than he’d remembered—in spite of her aloofness. Her face, framed by waves of soft, wheat-gold hair, was classically oval and beautifully symmetrical. And there was a breath-robbing quality about her perfect skin, the delicacy of her nose and mouth, the vividness of her eyes—deeply blue and darkly lashed.

      She was simply dressed, but the very simplicity of her pale blue dress and the fine gold chain about her neck served as a perfect foil for her beauty. The dress showed off her golden tan to perfection. It took every ounce of self-restraint to refrain from telling her straight out that she was, quite possibly, the loveliest woman he’d ever met.

      How crazy would that be? The frost and wariness in her eyes were enough to assure Ryan that Simone Gray wouldn’t give a flying fig.

      Angling for a safe opening, he asked, “Have you ever eaten here before?”

      “No.” She didn’t return his smile. “But I’ve checked out the menu and it looks OK.”

      “So you’re ready to order?”

      She nodded.

      He beckoned to a waiter and Simone ordered fish in black bean sauce. Ryan chose Mongolian lamb. They both skipped the wine list and ordered jasmine tea.

      In a matter of moments the waiter was gone and they were alone again.

      Across the table their gazes met and Ryan caught the tiniest flare of interest in her eyes, but it was so quickly doused, like a hastily snuffed candle, that he decided he’d imagined it.

      He cleared his throat. “I genuinely meant what I said about your travel piece in City Girl. I really liked it. I’ve been on the Nepalese side of the Himalayas, but not in China, and I think you definitely captured the atmosphere of the region. It’s a fine piece of writing—conveyed a great sense of immediacy, of being there with you.”

      Her right eyebrow lifted. “Mr Tanner—”

      “Simone.” He offered her his most charming smile. “I’m sure you can force yourself to call me Ryan.”

      She blinked, then managed a stiff quarter-smile. “Ryan, we both know I’m not here for a literary critique.” Sitting back, with her slim hands folded in front of her, she studied him grimly. “And I’m sure you’ll agree that my story might have had a greater sense of immediacy, not to mention accuracy, if I’d been able to consult my diary.”

      He shrugged. “You made it rather difficult for me to return it. There were absolutely no contact details.”

      She dismissed this with an impatient wave of her hand. “I didn’t expect to lose it. I’m always exceptionally careful.”

      “I’m sure you are.”

      She shot him a narrow look as if she suspected he was teasing her.

      “Unfortunately,” he added, “your taxi driver wasn’t so careful.”

      Simone’s eyes widened.

      “The diary fell out while he was cramming your backpack into the boot.”

      “I thought something like that must have happened. I rang the cab company, but no one handed it in.”

      Ryan sighed. “I rang the airport lost property, but no one had listed any contact details for a lost diary.”

      Tense silence fell as she sat watching him, challenging him with her deep, blue, disapproving eyes. “You did bring it, didn’t you?”

      No point in playing games. Ryan took the book out of his coat pocket and set it on the table.

      Her mouth tightened as she stared at it. “I suppose you’ve read every word.”

      “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

      She shot him a sharp, doubtful look, bristling with disbelief, and then, with an impatient cry, she reached for the book. Almost instinctively Ryan’s hand closed over hers. Why? He couldn’t quite explain.

      Simone gasped and Ryan felt a fine tremor pass through her, through him. She dropped her gaze and he saw the thick half-moons of her lashes and the faint golden-brown dusting of colour on her eyelids, the pink gloss on her lips.

      “Why don’t you believe me, Simone?”

      She wouldn’t look at him.

      He persisted. “If our roles were reversed, would you have read my diary?”

      For a split second she looked up, her blue eyes momentarily bewildered, shining with a suspect sheen. Her pink mouth tightened. “Why do you want to know that? Do you keep a diary?”

      “No,” he admitted. “But that’s not the point.”

      For the first time she smiled, but her smile was cool and intensely sceptical. “I think the point is that you’re trying to sidetrack me with hypothetical arguments.”

      Sighing, he let go of her hand. It was very clear that it didn’t matter what he said; she would never believe him, had no intention of trusting him. Crazy how much that bothered him.

      Simone pulled the diary across the table towards her, flipped through its pages, casting frantic glances here and there, and then snapped it shut. Looked worried.

      Their meals arrived and she put the diary in her handbag and busied herself pouring green tea into tiny white cups for both of them. The food looked delicious, smelled divine.

      Hoping to defuse the tension, Ryan picked up his chopsticks and clicked them together. “I guess you’re an expert at using these now.”

      Ignoring him, Simone stabbed her sticks nervously into her fish. “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

      “Take it easy, Simone. I’m not here to drag a story out of you.”

      She shot him a doubtful, dark-lashed glance. “Don’t, for one moment, imagine you can charm it out of me.”

      “Wouldn’t dream of anything so low.”

      “Then why are you here? Why couldn’t you have simply dropped the diary СКАЧАТЬ